


Shift

by IamShadow21



Series: Shift 'verse [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alive Ianto Jones, Alternate Dimension Canon Character, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon Het Relationship, Children of Earth Compliant, Children of Earth Fix-It, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Not A Fix-It, Not Miracle Day Compliant, POV Gwen Cooper, Post-Children of Earth, Rebuilding Torchwood, Sick Ianto Jones, Taken By The Rift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-18
Updated: 2009-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamShadow21/pseuds/IamShadow21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exploring the ruins of the Hub after a Rift quake, Gwen finds something completely unexpected that could change everything. But is it an answer to all her problems, or just a new complication?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Set nearly a year after COE. If you already know the major character developments for COE you should be fine with this, even if you haven't watched the mini-series.
> 
> Well, this was an interesting challenge. Writing a post-COE story _without actually having seen COE_. I had transcripts for the first two eps, but everything else I knew, I only know because of people's write-ups. Thank you [copperbadge](http://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge), and to my beta [51stcenturyfox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/51stCenturyFox/pseuds/51stCenturyFox). They both took one for the team so I didn't have to. Thanks, guys. :)

**shift**  
 _ **–verb (used with object)**_  
1\. to put (something) aside and replace it by another or others; change or exchange: to shift friends; to shift ideas.  
 _ **–verb (used without object)**_  
5\. to move from one place, position, direction, etc., to another.  
6\. to manage to get along or succeed by oneself.  
 _ **–noun**_  
12\. a change or transfer from one place, position, direction, person, etc., to another: a shift in the wind.  
19\. Mining. a dislocation of a seam or stratum; fault.  
24\. change or substitution.

***

There was nothing. Nothing but rubble and twisted metal and the maddening slow drip of water. A hundred feet or more below ground, with all those tons of steel and concrete above her head...

 

"See anything?"

 

Gwen jumped a mile, and let out a deep, slow breath before depressing the button on her radio.

 

"Not yet."

 

"Gwen, I'm really not sure about this," Andy continued.

 

"It'll be fine, Andy," Gwen soothed, her voice conveying a lot more calm than she actually felt.

 

Were those walls getting a little closer? Dammit, she was Welsh. Wasn't she supposed to feel comfortable underground? Oh dear, she shouldn't have thought about mining. Now all she could think of were those grim, traditional ballads she learnt in school about cave-ins.

 

"But Rhys..."

 

In her mind's eye, Gwen could see Andy on the Plass, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, free hand stuffed in the pocket of his jacket. He wasn't naturally given to subterfuge, bless him, and lately, he and Rhys had been getting on well.

 

"Rhys is at home with the baby. I told him that we're doing some simple reconnaissance after that Rift quake. And so we are."

 

Andy snorted, and Gwen knew he'd just rolled his eyes at her understatement. "Abseiling half a mile down into the ruins of the Hub is hardly simple. Insanely stupid, possibly, but not simple."

 

Gwen's breath caught a little. "Half a mile? Really?"

 

"No, not really," Andy retorted. "Are you all right?"

 

"Fine!" Gwen replied, a little too quickly, a little too brightly.

 

"Bollocks," Andy countered, clearly not convinced. "Come back up, Gwen, there's bugger all down there, and it's well past lunchtime. I want a butty and a cup of tea."

 

"I've found a door," she said, her claustrophobia dimming as she shone her mag light over the door frame and the hinges. "Looks intact."

 

"Just how deep are you?" Andy demanded. "We never found a door before."

 

"Things have shifted a bit," Gwen said absently, peering at the lock, wondering if she could pick it or if a tiny quantity of plastic explosive would be better. She'd really rather not use the explosive.

 

"Do you have any idea how much Rhys will hurt me if you get buried alive?" Andy asked. He'd be pacing by now, in short, unhappy circuits.

 

"That's all you're worried about, is it?" Gwen said, as she wriggled a tool into the old-fashioned keyhole. Definitely a remnant of the Victorian era.

 

"Absolutely. He's a very large man. All those pies washed down with lager have to go somewhere."

 

"Actually, he's lost half a stone since the baby was born," Gwen said slightly smugly as she fitted the second lock pick in beside the first.

 

"Been hiding the chocolate biscuits?" Andy guessed sarcastically.

 

Gwen thought of the Penguins tucked away under the towels in the linen cupboard at home, and refused to rise to the bait. "Nearly got it," she muttered, just before there was a metallic click and a deeper thunk. "Brilliant." She breathed a silent thank you to the late Owen Harper, who'd taken it upon himself to show her the way around a set of thieves' tools a few months after she started at Torchwood Three.

 

"Gwen," Andy said warningly. "Gwen, you can't just-"

 

Gwen stopped listening. The handle was stiff and turned reluctantly, and the door swung open with a sepulchral groan, but it did open. "I'm in," she said, and Andy's protests petered out. Her torchlight flickered over all the surfaces of the corridor that stretched out ahead of her, into a murkier gloom. "Looks safe. Some cracks here and there, but apart from that, seems untouched." She shivered, less from the cold than from deja vu. If it weren't for the utter lack of electricity and the stale air, this could be part of the lower levels from any time before the explosion. It was almost more unnerving than the unrecognisable piles of slag that were all that was left of the central Hub.

 

Curiosity had obviously overridden some of Andy's caution, because he seemed to be holding his breath a little. "Do you know where you are?" he asked.

 

"Not yet," Gwen admitted. Her knowledge of a lot of the lower levels was sketchy at best. She hadn't had a lot of cause to go down there very often.

 

"What if there are those... things living down there?" Andy asked. He wasn't frightened of Weevils, as such, but he'd rather not have anything to do with them if he could help it. It wasn't an unreasonable position.

 

"I've got my gun, and I'd smell it if they were," Gwen assured him. "All I can smell is dust."

 

"This is the way it's always going to be with you, isn't it?" Andy sighed. "You doing mad things, me begging you not to do mad things, you ignoring me." He sounded resigned, rather than hurt.

 

"I'll buy you a pint, afterwards," she placated. "And lunch."

 

Andy sniffed dismissively. "And what if I want steak from that posh new place down the other end of the Quay?"

 

"Then I'll ask you to remember that I have a baby to feed and clothe."

 

"It's not the baby you have to worry about on that score," Andy muttered, clearly thinking of Rhys again.

 

Gwen's shoes scuffed the concrete floor, small pebbles skittering away from her. The corridor bent and twisted back on itself in seemingly random ways. All that Gwen was certain of was that she was somewhere under the Hub, until an unusual bundle of pipes on the wall triggered a vague memory.

 

"I think I'm near the Archives," she murmured. "If they've survived..." she trailed off, her heart giving an excited ba-dump. Even Andy was silent, as though he had an inkling of the significance of such a find and was pondering it. "There's another door," she added.

 

This one would not be bypassed by a simple set of lock picks and a bit of skill. Even the plastic explosive might be a bit useless, here. A complex lock, a numeric keypad, and a heavy, reinforced frame. It'd probably closed itself with the initial lock-down, and without power, codes and keys, she'd never move it. Just as she was opening her mouth to tell Andy exactly that, there was a grinding shift of gears, a thud as though somebody had kicked the door from the inside, and a clank as a bolt on her side slid back.

 

Forgetting the radio altogether, Gwen dropped it and drew her gun in a smooth motion. It'd been months since she'd practised regularly, years since that first training session with Jack, but she felt him behind her, steadying her, as the heavy door swung open and revealed a dusty, shabbily dressed, impossible figure.

 

"Who are you?" Gwen demanded. "You can't be you. You're _dead_ ," she snapped.

 

Ianto, pale and squinting against the bright torchlight looked just as shocked. He was holding the alien lock pick device in one hand. His other hand twitched once towards the shoulder holster he wasn't wearing, then dropped to his side.

 

"So are you," he said, voice shaking.

 

"Don't move," Gwen said, and Ianto nodded. She kept her eyes, and her gun, trained on him. She couldn't think of him as Ianto. He could easily be a shape-shifter, or something like that thing they'd found in the tunnel in CERN. She scrabbled about blindly until her hand closed round the radio.

 

"-the bloody hell is going on? I'm going to call Rhys in thirty seconds if you don't answer!" Andy was saying.

 

"Andy, we've got a bit of a problem," Gwen said.

***

The journey back to the surface was slow. Having decided that she couldn't just leave whoever - or whatever - it was in the bowels of the ruined Hub, Gwen ordered him to take the lead, while she followed close behind with her gun and mag light. He didn't argue. Didn't say anything, really. His posture and gait weren't the tightly wound glide she was familiar with. They put her more in mind of that terrible night with the Cyberwoman, and Ianto's loose-limbed, resigned plod back up to the central Hub with Jack's Webley pressed to the back of his skull.

 

It got harder going, the further up they got. Any semblance of organised architecture was replaced by piles of crumbling concrete and masonry, twisted girders and glass-sharp tiles. Their shoes slipped on the dangerous, loose surface, and they both fell more than once. The first time Gwen stumbled, Ianto automatically offered his hand. Gwen stared at it as though it was a snake, and Ianto hastily stepped back, his eyes dropping and skating away from her face.

 

"Sorry," he mumbled, keeping well away, giving Gwen room to right herself. The next time, he didn't come near her at all.

 

Gwen let out an unsteady, relieved breath when she saw the first glimmers of daylight. The debris up here was slicker, painted wet with Cardiff rain, but it was more settled and much safer-going than the unexplored lower levels. A harness attached to a rope swung slowly back and forth in the eddies of air.

 

"Sit there," Gwen said, gesturing with her gun to a pylon lying diagonally across the cavern like a fallen tree. Ianto sat, his forearms resting on his knees, his face blank. He didn't look dangerous, but then, Gwen had learnt from Torchwood that you pretty much couldn't trust anything.

 

"We're here, Andy."

 

There was a pause, then a crackle through the radio before he replied. "I don't like this."

 

Gwen glanced at Ianto's unmoving form. "If there's any chance... I can't leave him here."

 

"And if it's an alien in disguise instead? He's _dead_ , Gwen," Andy said firmly.

 

"I know, Andy. I know. It's just..." Gwen huffed in frustration.

 

"I'm not a Nostrovite," Ianto said holding up his hand to show the fresh red blood dripping from a shallow cut. "And I think I can prove I'm human if you'll let me."

 

"How?" Gwen demanded.

 

"I have a scanner. It's old, but it works."

 

"Where is it?"

 

"Jacket pocket, right side," Ianto replied, and sure enough, Gwen could see the bulge. How had she not spotted that sooner?

 

"Get it out. _Slowly_. Then put it there," she said, pointing to a large boulder halfway between them.

 

Ianto moved his hand to the pocket. Gwen tightened her grip on the gun, lining up a disabling shot in case she needed it, but when the hand came back into sight it was cradling a slightly battered familiar device of bright yellow and black plastic. After placing it on the rock, Ianto retreated to the pylon.

 

"Give us a moment, Andy," Gwen said into the radio, then stepped forward to pick up the scanner. She wasn't as familiar with this older model as the newer one Tosh had developed shortly after Gwen started at Torchwood, but she still knew which buttons to press.

 

"If you're going to leave me," Ianto said softly, "could you at least give me some water?"

 

The scanner gave a cheerful series of blips and chirps.

 

"We're not leaving you," Gwen said firmly. "Andy? He's human."

 

"Bloody Torchwood," Andy swore.

 

"I'm coming up." She tucked her gun away in its holster and clipped the radio back on her belt.

 

Ianto was watching her from his perch on the pylon warily, as though he was suddenly unsure what she was about to do. "I was serious about the water," he said suddenly. "There are enough dehydrated food supplies to last me about a year, but the water's not safe to drink."

 

"Don't be stupid," Gwen said, strapping herself in. "I'll send the harness back down after I reach the top."

 

"You always were too trusting," Ianto mused, then shook his head, apologised, and looked down at his hands again.

 

It was too late, though. Gwen had already seen the grief in his eyes, her own ghost looking back at her, and it gave her chills. She couldn't look at him any more. She tugged the rope three times, and Andy began to slowly winch her back to the surface.

***

By the time Ianto was clambering up onto solid ground, Gwen had had time to fetch water from the car and and make a short and somewhat frustrating phone call home. He was screwing up his eyes against the daylight as though pained by it, and didn't seem inclined to try and stand any time soon. When he seemed a little steadier, she held out the bottle of water. Ianto accepted it gratefully, draining it in several long, desperate pulls.

 

Andy was standing back, obviously uncomfortable but not hostile. For all that he'd seen, he hadn't seen the dead rise before. Gwen decided that she was more or less accustomed to it now, although it never got old. Oh, no.

 

"All right, then?" Andy ventured.

 

Ianto, panting a little, nodded, then climbed to his feet. He gestured to Andy's rugby shirt. "Not in uniform."

 

"Unofficial Torchwood mascot," Andy quipped. "The pay's bollocks. Neither are you," he said, pointing at Ianto's jeans and tatty jacket, both of which were covered in concrete dust.

 

"Armani isn't practical for excavation of an underground lair."

 

"Wouldn't have thought it would be practical at all, in your line of work," Andy mused.

 

Something dark and miserable flashed across Ianto's face. "No," he said eventually. "I suppose not."

 

An awkward silence fell.

 

"Right!" Gwen said brightly. "Car's this way. You right with that kit, Andy?"

 

Ianto made a slight movement. "I could-"

 

Andy bristled slightly. "Fine, thanks." He swung the gear onto his back easily and walked right past Ianto towards the imposing looking fence; block-out steel panels with cement footers, topped with razor wire. The government had laid out money for that, even if the funds had disappeared since in a haze of bureaucracy and buck-passing.

 

Ianto winced and bit his lip. "He knows, then? That I was with Jack?"

 

"He's all right with it. Really," Gwen assured him. "He just wasn't expecting... this."

 

Ianto looked at her with an almost smile on his lips. "And you were?"

 

She matched it with a real one of her own. "Well, this is Torchwood," she said. "It's a job requirement. Too stubborn to notice when we're supposed to be dead."

 

The smile was genuine this time, if brief. They reached the car, and Ianto clambered into the back seat without complaint. As Gwen was buckling herself in, Andy turned the key to start the engine.

 

"Steak," Andy said firmly. "At least two pints, and some kind of fancy pudding for dessert."

 

"I'll be out on the street!" Gwen complained.

 

"You owe me, for putting up with this shite," Andy grumbled, pointing a finger at her, but his indignation was all for show and Gwen knew she'd be able to talk him down to a meal at their local pub bistro.

 

When Gwen looked over her shoulder what felt like only a minute later, Ianto's face was slack with sleep, his limbs shifting and rocking with the movement of the car. He looked exhausted, and the wound on his cheek, though long since healed, had left a fine pink scar that caught the light when the sun hit it.

 

She was turning to face forward when she caught Andy's eye. He looked up at the rear-view mirror, then at her again.

 

"How?" he asked, softly, as though he cared enough not to wake Ianto.

 

"I don't know," Gwen admitted.

***

She was barely through the front door before Rhys was there, asking questions.

 

"What the bloody hell's going on? You said-" He broke off when he saw Ianto shuffle in behind her, still sleepy-eyed and foggy from his nap in the car. "It's really him," Rhys said, his voice faint with awe. "Bastard Torchwood."

 

A moment later, Rhys had brushed past Gwen and pulled Ianto into an enormous hug. Ianto's eyes widened in shock. He stiffened, and then, almost imperceptibly, he relaxed and let out a small sigh.

 

Gwen felt a stab of guilt, and then a surge of love for her husband. She and Andy had both kept their distance, hadn't even tried to touch Ianto, both caught up in their own shock and suspicion. Rhys hadn't questioned for a second, once he'd seen Ianto, that he'd really come back.

 

Rhys stepped back, hands on Ianto's shoulders, studying his face. "How?" he asked Gwen.

 

"Rift quake," Ianto said. "Two days ago, roughly, I think. Lost track of time," he said, shaking his wrist. His sleeve slipped up to reveal a cheap wristwatch with a cracked face. "Could I sit down?"

 

The next few minutes were a blur of motion as everyone seemed to suddenly realise just how pale and sick Ianto looked. Gwen took Ianto's arm and led him to the couch. Rhys hurried off to make Ianto what he promised would be 'the best eggs you've ever tasted' and a cup of sweet tea. Andy hovered uncertainly until Gwen finished her fussing.

 

"Anything I can do, mate?"

 

Ianto grimaced. "I almost asked if you could swing by my flat and pick me up a change of clothes, but I suspect there isn't any flat to go to."

 

Gwen shifted uncomfortably. "Rhiannon got possession of it," she said gently, trying not to think about that horrible afternoon she'd had to tell Rhiannon her brother was dead, about how little you can really know someone who's practically family.

 

"After you and Jack cleaned it of anything sensitive, no doubt," Ianto said.

 

"Just me," Gwen corrected.

 

"Part of the job," Ianto said smoothly, though his eyes were fixed on something non-existent, as though he was lost in unpleasant recollection. "I'm sure you did well."

 

Gwen wondered how many times Ianto had had to do it for someone he'd worked with, someone he cared about. Whether he'd had to do it for her.

 

Andy cleared his throat. "You're about my size," he volunteered. "I don't live far from here. I could go home, get you something of mine to wear. Nothing fancy, mind you."

 

"Thank you," Ianto said with true gratitude, and the flash of a slightly crooked smile. "After a couple of days underground, I suspect I'm rather pungent."

 

"You lied," Gwen said softly, once Andy had left. "About your father. About everything."

 

Ianto's face was completely still. Two seconds passed, and Gwen began to think he hadn't heard her. Then his eyes sank closed, and the breath he'd been holding left his lips in a long, slow exhalation, shoulders sagging. He nodded.

 

"But _why?_ Why would you do that?"

 

There was another long pause, and then Ianto's words just seemed to burst out. He didn't shout, but every word had a force behind it, like conviction, belief. "Haven't you ever just wanted, more than anything, to be somebody else? Just take what you need, and leave?" He scanned her face, looking for comprehension. "Maybe you haven't. But I did. _I did that_. I made _everything_ new. I made my life what I wanted it to be. I left the shit back where it belonged, and I became something they told me I could _never_ be. _I got out_. I wore clothing I couldn't have even afforded to _look_ at before. I had money, a car, a flat. If I hadn't done what I did, I'd be living on an estate, working in some dead end job, smoking and drinking myself into an early grave. I _couldn't_."

 

"And Rhiannon?" Gwen prompted.

 

Ianto shrugged, deflating a little. "She never understood. She was happy where she was."

 

"You lied to all of us."

 

"Yes," he said.

 

"To me. To _Jack_ ," she pressed.

 

"Not Jack," he disagreed.

 

"Jack knew?" Gwen was surprised, and then realised that it wasn't really that surprising.

 

"Jack knew everything. Jack _understood_." His hands balled into fists and he looked pained. "Did he stay, here?" he asked, staring at the floor as if afraid to look at her.

 

"No," she said, feeling her throat grow tight. "I always thought that if you hadn't... that maybe he might have."

 

"He didn't," Ianto said.

 

Rhys bustled in a minute later with enough scrambled eggs and toast to feed a small army. Ianto retreated so quickly back into his shell that the moment of candidness felt like a dream.

***

Gwen watched Ianto eating, and tried not to stare. Though he was still meticulously neat, there was an uncharacteristic speed to his chewing. He was too thin, she realised. As thin as he had been after Lisa.

 

Ianto caught her looking and raised an enquiring eyebrow.

 

"Sorry," she said guiltily. "It's just... a bit much to take in, you know? You being here."

 

"I'm sure it'll catch up with me sooner or later, too," he said kindly.

 

The obnoxious buzz of the doorbell made them both jump, and a fretful high-pitched cry emerged from the bedroom. Rhys dropped the tea towel he was holding and started towards the door, but Gwen was already on her feet.

 

"I'll get him, you've been watching him all morning," she said, kissing Rhys quickly on the lips and patting him on the chest. "You let Andy in."

 

The angry ball of tiny fists and tears quieted quickly enough when she picked him up and cradled him to her chest, subsiding into coos and hiccoughs.

 

Back out in the lounge room, Andy plonked himself on the couch with a cheerful, "Ooh! Eggs!" He scooped a heap of the yellow mess onto a piece of toast and set about demolishing it with the cheerful and abysmal table manners of a man used to eating on the run.

 

"What?" he said thickly, through a mouthful.

 

"Nothing," Ianto replied, and took another, rather dainty, bite.

 

"Bottle's in the microwave," Rhys said. "Don't know if he'll want it, though. He's not been down for long."

 

Rhys leaned in to stroke the baby's cheek with a forefinger, and the baby obligingly yawned enormously.

 

Ianto had swivelled around and was watching them from the couch, an indecipherable look in his eyes. "What's his name?" he asked eventually.

 

"Edward," Gwen said with a smile. "It started out as a joke, but it kind of stuck. And it was easier than risking offending Rhys's mum and dad, or mine. He's three months."

 

"Congratulations," Ianto said, smiling, but the smile looked forced. "If it's not any trouble, would I be able to take that shower, now?"

 

"No problem," Rhys said, showing him the way through. "Towels on the shelf, new razors under the sink, if you want one."

 

"Thank you." The door shut firmly, the water starting only moments later.

 

"Is he all right, do you think?" Rhys asked, glancing at the door a little anxiously.

 

Gwen glanced down at Edward's sleeping face. "When I found him, he said I was dead," she said softly.

 

The microwave dinged. Rhys moved over to retrieve the bottle, though it was obvious his son wouldn't want it right away, and pressed a kiss to Gwen's forehead. "You're not dead. Neither's Edward, and neither is he, now."

 

"I'm dead, somewhere," Gwen persisted. "Somewhere we're both dead. And Ianto's dead here."

 

"He's alive, scrubbing the dirt off himself in our bloody shower, using our towels, and your bloody mango body wash, no doubt," Rhys insisted. "And so should you, after he's done."

 

Rhys expertly relieved her of Edward, taking him swiftly back to the bedroom, leaving her calculating the amount of stain remover she'd need on the heavy duty wash cycle to get the dust and dirt out of her clothing.

 

"He's right, you know," Andy said, polishing the last of the eggs off the plate with a crust and popping the lot into his mouth. He chewed quickly and swallowed. "You can't think about it like that. It'll drive you bonkers."

 

"You're siding with Rhys?" Gwen said, feigning disbelief.

 

"Stranger things have happened," Andy replied placidly, before drinking the last mouthful of Ianto's tea.

 

She couldn't help but agree.

***

When Ianto emerged, he was dressed in a pair of jeans that seemed a little too tight and an enormous brown jumper that would have easily fit Rhys. He was cleanly shaved, and everyone politely ignored the fragrance of artificial mangoes and the slight redness of his eyes. Gwen showered hastily, and re-entered the lounge room in time to see Rhys pouring out a healthy measure of spirits into a glass. Rhys caught her looking disapproving, and gave a short shake of his head to kerb a protest.

 

"Figured we'd need it," he said, pouring two more. "Want one, love?"

 

Gwen reflected on the day she'd had, and let out a deep sigh and flopped down on the couch next to Ianto.

 

"Yeah, go on then."

 

Ianto seemed cleaner, but no less tense. He was occupying himself by fastidiously picking fluff off the sleeves of his tent-like jumper, and piling it in his cupped palm. Gwen suspected the jumper was so old and worn that if Ianto continued, he'd reduce it to a net shirt. He stopped when Rhys handed him the glass, dusting the little pile of fluff onto the empty breakfast plate.

 

"So, Rift quake. What's all that about?" Rhys asked casually. "I thought that maybe you'd be busy rounding up them whatchamacallits, Weevils, or something. I didn't know you got dead people through it, too. Has he come from the other side, then?"

 

Ianto and Gwen both chose that moment to take a large mouthful.

 

"I'd rather dead people than Roman soldiers," Andy remarked.

 

"Are you serious?" Rhys asked, gaping.

 

"Two years ago. Murdered a couple of people, then attacked a taxi with a sword," he confirmed.

 

"You mean the driver?"

 

"No, the car," Andy clarified. "Made a big mess of the paint work."

 

"I'm not back from the dead," Ianto said suddenly. "This isn't my world."

 

An awkward little silence fell over the group.

 

"The Rift's been so unstable since the explosion," Ianto continued. "I got into the Archives months ago. I've been sorting it out, transferring artefacts and files to a safer location bit by bit. Then that quake hit." He took a shaky mouthful. "Everything went dark. I couldn't find my torch. I couldn't find anything. I just stumbled around for hours, grabbing things. Lucky I didn't blow myself up, really. When I did find something that lit up, I thought I'd gone mad. All the work I'd done... everything was back. It looked like it did before I started. Worse. The doors were all bolted and sealed. It wasn't until I found the scanner that I knew what had happened."

 

Ianto held out a hand. It looked normal; pink skin, a few nicks and scrapes, calluses from holding a pen and a gun.

 

"Rift energy," he said. "I'm soaked with it. The same signature as that of the quake. Our worlds must have connected for a moment, down there in the Archives, and I... slipped through. I can't go back. I'm stuck here."

 

"Don't say that," Gwen said immediately. "We'll find a way."

 

Ianto shook his head. "There's nothing for me back there anyway."

 

There was that miserable, haunted look in his eyes again, and Gwen felt sick with guilt that her overwhelming thought was that she was so, so lucky to have had Rhys to turn to over the last year.

 

"So, that's all you've been doing, all this time?" Gwen asked. "Digging about down there?"

 

"It's my job," Ianto said dully. "It's over a hundred years of history and research. It needs preserving. But no," he said, with another swallow. "Not all that time."

 

"Then what-?"

 

"I went looking for John Hart."

 

It was probably what Gwen least expected to hear, and Ianto smiled humourlessly at her expression.

 

"Who's John Hart, then?" Andy asked.

 

"Trouble," Gwen said. "Why on earth would you want to see him?"

 

"Jack-" Ianto's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and drained the last bit of alcohol from his glass. Rhys moved over silently and topped it up. "Jack had gone. I... I wasn't thinking very clearly. It doesn't matter. It didn't help."

 

"What happened?"

 

"He laughed at me," Ianto said lightly. "Revelled in being right about Jack not staying. And then he offered me a pity fuck."

 

A short bark of laughter escaped from Gwen's lips, until she translated the stillness on Ianto's face. "Oh, sweetheart..." she said gently.

 

"Stole my credit cards and my watch, but it could have been worse," Ianto observed. "He didn't kill me in my sleep."

 

No one quite seemed to know what to say to that. Ianto's lips narrowed into a thin, tight line as he swallowed the rest of his second drink. When Rhys went to pour him another, he shook his head. Ianto seemed to have run out of words. His eyes were heavy with tiredness, his cheeks tinted pink, and his fingers had returned to restlessly plucking at his jumper.

 

Andy drifted off home to prepare for a shift that evening, extracting a promise from Gwen that yes, they would have dinner later that week. The baby woke again, and by the time Rhys had re-emerged with him, Ianto was nodding in his seat. Gwen convinced him to kick off his shoes and lie down while she covered him with a glaringly pink duvet. He drifted off immediately, and slept and slept and slept, right through dinner and beyond.

 

Gwen gave in to the urge and leaned down to kiss Ianto's forehead. He looked so young.

 

"Poor bastard," Rhys said.

***

When Gwen staggered out into her kitchen the next morning, she was confronted by the sight of her (former) colleague dressed in naught but jeans and marigolds. Ianto froze, then blushed from the tips of his ears down... further than she really should have looked, as a married woman.

 

"The sleeves wouldn't stay up," Ianto said, pointing a yellow, rubber clad finger at the jumper. It was draped over a kitchen stool, neatly. Both cuffs looked rather waterlogged and soggy.

 

Gwen couldn't help it; she laughed. Tried to bite it back a little, hid her mouth behind an instinctively-raised hand so as not to wake Edward or the still-snoring Rhys, but he just looked so ridiculous that it was a lost cause. It was all right, though, because Ianto was grinning, too.

 

"Tea?" he asked, with as much poise and dignity as if he had been wearing a three-piece suit.

 

"Yes, please," she replied, gratefully.

 

Ianto peeled off the marigolds and moved to the kettle. "I'd make coffee, but you've only got instant." His tone left no question as to what he thought of that. Gwen felt rather like she'd been caught doing something rather shameful and embarrassing.

 

"Quite a nice cafetière, though," Ianto said, gesturing at the now sparkling clean coffee plunger in the drying rack beside the sink. She couldn't remember ever having used it, or even where they'd got it. Possibly it had been a wedding present. "If you pick up some beans today and a little grinder, I can make us some proper coffee later."

 

"Wouldn't have a clue what to buy. Wouldn't it be safer if you got it?" Gwen asked.

 

Ianto shot her a look full of grim humour. "Dead men can't buy coffee grinders," he said, pouring the hot water into two mugs. "They can't drive cars or rent hotel rooms, either."

 

"Oh, Ianto..."

 

Ianto shrugged as he pulled the milk from the fridge. "There's procedure for it, of course. But it takes a little while, and since we don't have an operational Hub, we're going to have to go through UNIT. Even if they're quick, it'll probably be a few days before I exist again. Officially."

 

He brought over the tea, handing her hers before leaning against the breakfast bar and taking a mouthful of his own.

 

"You look good," she observed. Ianto glanced downwards, and she batted lightly at his arm. "That's not what I meant! _Healthier_. More colour in your cheeks."

 

"Slept well," Ianto replied. "Better than I have for months."

 

Gwen slipped her hand into his, and he held it lightly. "We'll go out later. You can wear one of Rhys's shirts. Buy clothes, coffee, a new watch."

 

"Expensive," Ianto murmured.

 

"I'll deduct it from your pay cheque," Gwen said. "If you still want to work for for me, that is."

 

Gwen watched the subtle flicker of emotions pass over Ianto's face as he tried to digest what she was saying.

 

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked. Testing, testing.

 

"This could be your way out," she suggested.

 

Ianto scoffed. "No one gets out of Torchwood. Not alive. Not _intact_."

 

"What's Torchwood?" Gwen asked holding a hand up as though she were offering something intangible. "It's you and me, in this room, drinking tea, half-dressed, first thing in the morning." Gwen placed her hand on his forearm, trying to ignore the fact that it felt far too intimate, given Ianto's usual, buttoned-up state. He hadn't replied, and she didn't push for an answer.

 

"You're young. You could go to university, have a career. Have a normal life." He opened his mouth, and she shook her head. "Just think about it," she urged.

 

He looked for a moment as if he were going to argue with her, then subsided with nothing more than an eye roll. "I don't need to be coddled, you know," he said. It was a gentle correction, not peevish or annoyed.

 

"Humour me," Gwen said, smiling. "After breakfast, we're going out shopping."

***

Browsing through clothing stores with Ianto felt surprisingly... normal. Almost disconcertingly so. Gwen had braced herself for Ianto honing in on some fancy 'gentleman's outfitter', but he was remarkably practical, moving straight for a large department store. T-shirts, jeans, a pair of charcoal trousers and two dress shirts. It was the ties he lingered longest over, eventually selecting one that was almost as expensive as both shirts together. The travel shaving kit made sense; the sewing kit was not immediately obvious. Ianto caught Gwen's baffled expression, and gestured towards the clothing.

 

"It'll all have to be altered," he explained.

 

Gwen jiggled Edward in his sling to calm him when he started making grumbling noises. "All of them?"

 

Ianto gave her a crooked smile in return. "The t-shirts should be safe."

 

Playfully, she picked up a blouse from a nearby rack and held it up. "What do you think?" she asked.

 

Ianto opened his mouth to reply, then shut it with a snap, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're asking me to pander to a blatant stereotype, and I absolutely refuse."

 

"Oh, go on," Gwen teased.

 

Ianto ignored her, pretending to look at the contents of the shopping trolley instead, as though calculating the cost.

 

"I'll just buy it then, shall I?" Gwen said brightly stepping towards the trolley, garment in hand.

 

"You'd do better with the green," Ianto muttered, without looking her way. "The red's all wrong for your skin tone."

 

Smirking, Gwen made the substitute.

 

"I hate you," Ianto said without venom.

 

Edward grizzled, and flailed a tiny fist.

 

"Onwards and upwards, then," Gwen said. "Cranky boy here is due for a feed."

 

In the queue, Edward broke into a healthy squall that would have made a rugby fan proud. Aware of the ire of the staff and customers, Gwen did the first thing that came into her head. "D'you mind? Sorry," she said, and slid Edward expertly from the sling and into Ianto's arms.

 

Ianto's face went completely still for a moment, then he gave a tight little smile and left the store, to the great relief of everyone surrounding her.

 

"Young baby," a woman in her fifties remarked. "Your first?"

 

"Yes," Gwen answered, digging through her bag for her credit card.

 

The woman had a wise, sentimental smile on her face. "You can always tell, you know," she confided. She patted Gwen's arm. "Don't worry. He'll get the knack for it sooner or later."

 

Gwen blinked, then looked through the glass front of the store, to where Ianto was pacing up and down, trying to quiet the baby. He'd didn't look frustrated, exactly, holding Edward; just slightly awkward, as if he wasn't sure he was doing it right. She couldn't help but burst out laughing when the penny dropped.

 

"Oh, he's not my husband," she said.

 

The woman's face fell into disapproving lines and creases as she glanced at Gwen's wedding ring.

 

"He's my brother," Gwen added, realising as she said it that it wasn't that much of a lie. He was the closest thing she had, really.

 

The woman's patronising smile returned. "Good practice for him, then," she said approvingly.

 

Gwen resisted the urge to tell the interfering old bitch to shove off, and smiled falsely in return. It was very grown-up of her, she thought.

***

Fed and changed, Edward was much more placid. Which was just as well, because the moment Ianto entered the speciality store, Gwen knew from the serious look on his face that it was going to take a little while. The selection of grinders was small, and he moved fairly swiftly to one in particular. Not the cheapest, by any means, but, thank God, not the most expensive. She'd never even thought about how much the gadgets were worth, but looking at some of the price tags on the smaller machines was making her feel vaguely dizzy. Some of the larger machines were hundreds or even _thousands_ of pounds, and she found herself wondering just how much it would cost to set up Ianto's little barista corner of the Hub again.

 

He'd just started eyeing the extensive selection of coffee beans when her mobile rang. Glancing at the caller ID, she got Ianto's attention and gestured that she'd be just outside. He absently waved her on.

 

"Martha, hi!" Gwen said. "You got my message, then?"

 

"Something about duplication? Was there an accident or something?" Martha sounded a little distracted. There was the sound of typing in the background.

 

"Sort of, yes," Gwen replied. "I need someone with clearance who can reactivate the files of someone who's legally dead."

 

The typing paused. "You haven't found any more creepy bits of armour have you?" Martha asked suspiciously.

 

Gwen laughed, but to her own ears, it sounded high-pitched and nervous. "No, no. Nothing like that."

 

"Are you okay?" Martha said slowly, and to Gwen's horror, she found that really, she wasn't, not quite. With shaking fingertips she wiped away the tears that had welled up without warning, waiting to spill.

 

"It's Ianto," Gwen said, her throat tight. "Ianto's back. Not quite our Ianto, but so, so close. He's here, Martha, he's alive."

 

"Slow down, Gwen," Martha said, and Gwen could hear the difference in her voice, the steel that grim experience had put there. "Ianto's been gone a long time. I'm not saying you're wrong, but how do you know it's him?"

 

Gwen's words came tripping out over each other. "Rift quake a few days ago. I found him locked in a section of the Hub, yesterday. He scans as human. He came through when the quake hit." She coughed a little, trying to calm down, trying to be level-headed and impartial. She couldn't. "In his world, I died, and Jack still left. He's had no one for so long. He's been so alone. He's so _thin_ , Martha."

 

"Has he acted oddly at all? Made phone calls he didn't like you listening in on? _Does he smell bad?_ "

 

"Smell bad?" Gwen asked.

 

"It's important," Martha said, without a trace of humour.

 

"No... none of that," Gwen replied. Through the window of the shop, she could see Ianto pointing decisively to certain drawers, and the assistant scooping beans from them into scales to be weighed and packaged.

 

There was a brief silence, then Martha sighed. "I believe you," she said finally, "and I'll start the paperwork, but I'm coming over to check him out myself. Even if he is Ianto, he should have a medical check if he's as run down as you say he is."

 

Ianto was looking around for her, and she moved back towards the door. "Thank you, Martha, you're a sweetheart," Gwen said.

 

"I'll let you know when I'm due in. See you soon," Martha said, the sounds of typing resuming as she bid farewell.

 

"See you," Gwen replied to Martha, flipping her phone shut when she reached the counter. "How much do I owe you?" she asked the salesperson.

 

It was a mark of how seasoned to surprises she'd become working for Torchwood that she didn't openly gape at the total price.

***

That evening, Ianto was shirtless again in Gwen's kitchen, patiently bearing Martha's poking and prodding with a minimum of eye rolling.

 

Gwen, meanwhile was in caffeinated heaven. "I take back everything I said in the car," she moaned.

 

"You'll never sleep tonight," Martha said, listening through her stethoscope while she tapped on Ianto's ribs. "And out. Your lungs sound a little congested," she said, scribbling something in doctor-scrawl on her notepad.

 

"It's scar tissue," Ianto replied. "I had pneumonia a couple of months ago."

 

"And you've been down in that hole, breathing in all that dirt and dust. _Lovely_. X-rays tomorrow."

 

Ianto rolled his eyes again.

 

"He frothed the milk and everything," Gwen said, looking into her half empty mug in wonder. "He didn't even have one of those steam nozzle thingies." The little whisk that Ianto had bought from the coffee shop had been far more effective than she'd thought possible.

 

"Expecting more than one?" Ianto asked wryly, when Martha listened to the right side of his chest as well as the left.

 

"I've learnt not to take anything as a given," she replied smoothly. "Still got that pocket watch?"

 

"It was a stopwatch, and no," Ianto said, the slight touch of levity gone.

 

"What happened to it?" Martha asked, shining a light in his eyes, peeling down his lids to peer at the colour of the inner tissue.

 

"Probably blown up with the Hub," Ianto said tightly.

 

Gwen could taste the lie, and when Ianto met her eyes and hastily looked away she knew it for what it was. If his Jack was like hers, she knew exactly where the stopwatch was.

 

"Speaking of explosions, you've got quite significant hearing loss for someone your age, particularly on your right-hand side. Is that recent?"

 

Ianto shrugged. "Haven't noticed any difference. Could be from then, could be... older." The words 'Canary Wharf' didn't need to be uttered.

 

Martha nodded and didn't probe further. "Small prick," she warned.

 

Gwen snorted. Ianto's glare was ruined when he hissed in pain. Martha offered him a cotton ball, then tapped away at her device for a few moments.

 

"Your white count's up a little, so you probably have a chest infection. Congratulations."

 

Ianto groaned and scrubbed his face with a hand.

 

A few more taps. "You've not been eating well either, have you?"

 

"Better as of about a day ago," Ianto said, then when Martha raised an eyebrow, he shook his head.

 

"You're low on just about everything, and I'm surprised you don't have scurvy," she declared, "So it's good that I packed this, isn't it?"

 

At the sight of a rather alarmingly large needle, Ianto wasn't sure how to respond. "Er... yes?"

 

Martha swabbed his arm in another place, then jabbed him efficiently. "Bit of a cocktail. More like a fruit smoothie, really. It'll help you fight off that infection a bit faster. I want you taking multivitamins for a few weeks, too."

 

Ianto huffed, clearly getting close to the end of his patience.

 

"Don't argue with your doctor," Martha warned, gesticulating with the spent syringe.

 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Ianto said hastily.

 

"Now, the bathroom," Martha said, gesturing that Ianto should follow. "Full physical."

 

Ianto's startled blink stated volumes. Gwen looked very intently into her empty mug.

 

"Won't take a moment," Martha added, a little more gently.

 

Ianto nodded curtly and walked past them, Martha trailing behind.

 

Only a couple of minutes later, both emerged. Ianto looked relieved and perfectly ready to pretend that none of the last twenty minutes had actually happened. Martha busied herself with packing away her kit.

 

Ianto was still slipping on his t-shirt when Rhys bustled in.

 

"What's going on 'ere, then?" Rhys asked.

 

"Doctors and nurses," Gwen quipped.

 

"Remind me, when was your last physical, Gwen?" Martha asked, a wicked twinkle in her eye.

 

"Never mind," Gwen said hastily.

 

"Coffee?" Ianto asked, clearly ready to resort to outright bribery to have the subject of his health dropped.

 

Gwen raised her mug in the air. "Please!"

***

Martha had been right about the coffee. Gwen was still awake and buzzing when the others began to nod in their seats. It did mean that she was definitely alert enough to drive Martha to the station, though.

 

"Sure you don't want to stay?" Gwen asked one last time.

 

"I'd love to," Martha said, longing evident in her voice, "but Tom's expecting me back, and these blood samples won't keep forever. Plus, I've got a stack of paperwork to do," she added ruefully. "I should never have let them promote me. It's nothing but bloody paperwork."

 

Gwen groaned. "Tell me about it! If that smarmy PA from the PM's office rings up one more time to tell me I've ticked where I should have crossed, or not given them the right authorisation code, I'm going to strangle him through the phone!"

 

Martha gave her a quizzical look. "Are they blocking you?"

 

Gwen rubbed at her temple with a hand. "Not exactly. It's just a taking lot of time, and it's going to cost a hell of a lot of money, and with the way the government is right now..."

 

"...they're dragging their feet," Martha concluded.

 

"They're not making it easy," Gwen said grimly. "It's been nearly a year, after all, and we've barely started on the clean-up, let alone the rebuilding. If Jack hadn't left me with access to his personal funds... well, things would be difficult. There's one project in particular that can't go without support." Gwen glanced over. "Another time, I think, I'll talk to you about that. Not right now."

 

Gwen pulled the car in alongside the kerb smoothly, then climbed out to hug Martha goodbye.

 

"If you need anything," Martha began, then saw the look on Gwen's face. " _Is_ there something?"

 

"You've still got his number, haven't you?" Gwen began slowly. "The Doctor's."

 

"He can't undo things," Martha said gently, as though breaking bad news. "He can't fix what's happened."

 

"No, I know, I understand that," Gwen said. "It's about Jack."

 

"You think he's travelling with him again?"

 

"I don't know," Gwen said with a choked, mildly hysterical laugh.

 

"I could find out," Martha offered.

 

"No," Gwen said quickly. "But if he calls, and if he mentions Jack... would you let us know? That he's okay, that is."

 

"And Ianto? What do I say about him?"

 

"I don't know," Gwen said.

 

" _Should_ we tell him?" Martha asked, clearly torn.

 

"I don't know," Gwen repeated. "Surely Jack should know, but... I don't know what Ianto wants."

 

"It might make a difference, if Jack knew," Martha said.

 

 _He might come back_ , Gwen read between the lines. She stomped down on the spark of hope she felt kindle at that thought.

 

"I'll talk to him," Gwen promised.

***

Ianto was awake when she returned, much to her surprise. She shot him a smile then walked through to the bedroom, where Rhys was snoring like a chainsaw and Edward was grizzling quietly.

 

"Shoosh, shoosh, shoosh," she hushed, gathering Edward up in her arms and patting him, slipping back out into the lounge room.

 

The lights were off, but Ianto had the television on with the sound muted. An old black and white film flickered away, all cardboard sets and Brilliantined hair.

 

"You can have the sound on," she offered. "Rhys'll sleep through anything."

 

Ianto gave her an odd little smile. "Sometimes it's better this way."

 

Gwen's scepticism must have shown, because Ianto gestured towards the screen, his hand forming shapes in the air to illustrate his point.

 

"You see things that you miss, otherwise. The way the actors move in the space, the way they react physically to each other. If the performance is good enough, you often don't need the sound at all, even if you've never seen the film before. It's all there, you just have to know how to look for it."

 

Gwen tried to look. She did. But it was all so much nonsense to her without the soundtrack, like modern street theatre.

 

"He's been framed for murder," Ianto explained, pointing at the screen. "The woman who was murdered told him about a conspiracy, and he's following the trail."

 

Gwen watched a man jump from a moving train and run away down a long bridge.

 

"You've seen this before," Gwen said suspiciously.

 

Ianto gave her a mischievous grin. "Many times," he confirmed. "Hitchcock. It's a classic."

 

Edward's face crumpled, and Gwen could tell he was gearing up for a good bellow.

 

"Sorry," she murmured, feeling oddly shy as she unbuttoned her blouse.

 

Ianto didn't seem bothered. He didn't even pretend he wasn't looking, which somehow made it a whole lot less embarrassing. They both watched Edward latch on and suckle, making odd little grunts as he fed.

 

"Seems all he does is eat and sleep," she sighed.

 

"You're lucky. All Rhi's eldest did for the first four months was scream his head off," Ianto said ruefully.

 

"Are you going to contact her?" Gwen asked.

 

"And say _what?_ " Ianto asked, an edge of sarcasm creeping into his voice. "She _buried_ me, Gwen."

 

"Yes, she did," Gwen said, heart clenching in her chest. "And if she could have you back, she would."

 

"You don't know that," Ianto said tightly, and there was bitterness there, deep bitterness.

 

"I _do_ know that, because I'm the one who had to tell her you were dead," Gwen snapped, and instantly regretted it when Ianto visibly flinched. They'd been so careful, so tactful over the last day not to go there, not to bring it up, despite it hovering there in the back of both their minds, and she'd just gone and blown it. She opened her mouth to apologise, but Ianto got there first.

 

"I'm sorry," he said, his hands balled into tight fists on his knees. "I forgot. I'm sorry."

 

"Were you the one who told Rhys about me?" she asked, and Ianto nodded.

 

"He hit me. Then he cried in my arms," Ianto said distantly.

 

"Thank you," she said, curling a hand over one of his.

 

She didn't ask how she had died, or if they'd Retconned Rhys of all the years they'd spent together. She didn't want to know.

 

"I'll think about it," Ianto said. "If I did... you'd have to help. I couldn't just..." he gestured an open hand in the air.

 

"Of course not," Gwen agreed. "I'd break it to her, arrange a place for you to meet. There's always the risk that she'll find out accidentally if you stay in Cardiff, and that'd be worse."

 

Ianto grimaced. "I know."

 

Gwen decided that while Ianto was being a little bit more open, there was no time like the present to be blunt. "And what about Jack?"

 

"What about him?" Ianto asked tersely. "He's gone."

 

Edward finished sucking and gave a sleepy yawn. Gwen held him upright and patted his back to burp him.

 

"The Doctor's out there, and Jack might be with him. Martha has his number," Gwen began.

 

"I have his bloody number," Ianto snorted.

 

Of course he did, Gwen reminded herself. Ianto had a habit of remembering the most trivial of details, especially numbers. Given the circumstances they'd learned it under, he'd doubtless remember the Doctor's phone number forever.

 

"You could ring him up," Gwen said. "Talk to him."

 

"What good would that do?" Ianto snapped. " _He left me_ , Gwen."

 

Ianto was angry. Gwen had anticipated a lot of potential reactions, but anger was not one of them.

 

"Not this Jack," she reminded him. "He lost you, _mourned_ you."

 

Ianto laughed, and Gwen thought that it was about the most desperately sad sound she'd ever heard.

 

"You don't understand; it wouldn't have mattered." The smile on his face took her right back to a cold camping ground in the blasted Brecon Beacons, and the childish game gone very wrong.

 

"I told him I loved him and... it didn't matter. It made things _worse_. He couldn't stand that I still loved him when he hated himself. I wished you could have-" He stopped speaking abruptly, his face shuttering closed, his body tight lines and angles of misery.

 

"I couldn't have," Gwen said, guessing what he had stopped himself from saying. She dared to place her hand on his arm and lean against his shoulder. "He couldn't stay for us. We tried, but we weren't enough. We weren't what he needed."

 

They sat that way in silence until the film flickered its way to the end. Then Gwen excused herself and crept away, leaving Ianto to grieve in peace.

***

"Your computer's rubbish," Ianto said bluntly, sipping a cup of espresso the colour of coal. He was pale and his eyes were bloodshot, with heavy shadows under them. Gwen wondered if he'd slept at all.

 

He'd originally asked to use it to look up prices of flats on the internet. He'd ended up poking around in technical files that were so much gibberish to Gwen.

 

"It was good when we bought it," Gwen said mildly defensively. She wasn't really offended. She was just glad that Ianto seemed to have found something to amuse himself with after the emotional train wreck of last night.

 

Ianto snorted. "It's one step above an abacus. If this is the only computer you've got, you really should requisition another from London. You're effectively working from home, and you need something up to date."

 

It was Gwen's turn to laugh. "Tell that to London. I'm practically a volunteer at the moment. If it wasn't for Rhys's salary..."

 

Ianto's gaze turned sharp. "Leave it to me."

 

"You're dead," Gwen reminded him.

 

"So was Owen," Ianto quipped, "and he still got what he wanted for Autopsy if he made enough noise."

 

Within half an hour, Ianto was talking smoothly and assertively to somebody who was most certainly higher up the chain than the patronising lackey Gwen had been getting fobbed off by.

 

"I'm sorry, but that's not acceptable," Ianto said in response to what was clearly a placatory sub-standard offer, all the while taking occasional notes on a pad of paper and making himself another coffee.

 

"Thank you, you've been very helpful," Ianto said eventually, hanging up on a harried government official in London. He handed over the list to Gwen, looking slightly apologetic. "Best I could do," he said. "I can push for more when they reactivate my codes."

 

Gwen read down the page, her eyes getting wider with each entry. She couldn't help bursting into laughter and hugging him tightly, Ianto's customary reserve be damned. "You're a miracle worker," she enthused, kissing him firmly on the cheek.

 

Ianto looked pleased, giving her the first proper smile since she'd found him. His next words pulled her up short, however.

 

"I want to go back to the Hub. We need to get started sorting it out, and there are things down there that could help us."

 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Gwen said. "For one thing, it's dangerous. Secondly, you're ill."

 

"I feel _fine_ ," Ianto said through gritted teeth.

 

"You look like shit," Gwen told him.

 

"Thank you for not saying 'death warmed up'," Ianto said, taking another swallow of coffee.

 

"That too," Gwen said mulishly. "You have an x-ray at noon, and you're not skipping out on it."

 

Ianto gave her a look that suggested he'd rather eat broken glass.

 

Gwen dropped her voice to a lower register. "You want to go your own way, be a civilian? Fight me over everything, give yourself pneumonia to spite me? That's fine. You want to be Torchwood? You listen to common sense."

 

Ianto didn't respond; just bit his lip and looked at the floor, as if he'd rather be anywhere else.

 

"You've been alone for a long time, living by your own rules. I understand that. But you're not, now. That means it's your responsibility to sleep when you need it, and get medical help when you're sick or injured. You're a liability otherwise, and I don't need a liability on my team."

 

"Yes, ma'am," Ianto agreed softly.

 

He took the multivitamin she handed him without a word, and submitted to the x-rays (paper gown and all) without complaint.

 

"Now then," Gwen said, linking her spare arm through his while her other cradled Edward in his sling, "you still need a watch, don't you?"

 

"Er...yes?" Ianto said looking confused. "It can wait. I don't mind."

 

Gwen wasn't fooled. She'd seen him fiddling nervously with the broken one on his wrist when he thought she wasn't looking.

 

"Let's go and find you a replacement. My treat," she said, beaming.

 

"Aren't lollipops more traditional in these cases?" asked Ianto. "They're certainly cheaper than a Rolex."

 

"You knocked some London heads together for me. I'd buy you a ring if I wasn't a married woman."

 

"I've always thought gold and diamonds were a bit crass, anyway," Ianto mused.

 

"Just as well, considering how much we spent on coffee yesterday," Gwen commented.

 

"How do you feel about titanium?" Ianto asked, obviously already mentally compiling a timepiece wish list.

 

"So long as it's under two hundred pounds, you can get whatever you like."

 

Ianto flashed her a grin. "If you know where to look, you can get anything for the right price," he said.

 

Two hours and six pawn shops and antiques dealers later, Ianto had an excellent watch for far less than it was worth, and four sets of cuff-links to boot.

***

"Oh, hello," Rhys said, taking in the scene in the kitchen with interest. "Making him work for his keep, are we?"

 

"Can't stop him," Gwen replied. "How was your day, love?"

 

"Good, yeah. You?"

 

"Busy."

 

"Moderately humiliating," chimed in Ianto.

 

"Ay?"

 

"Never mind him," Gwen said.

 

"Never mind yourself. You're not the one with a diet sheet," Ianto muttered, dumping pieces of chopped carrot into a pot.

 

Gwen was unsympathetic. "Try having a kid. Go eight months without coffee, and then you can complain about Martha making you eat your greens."

 

Rhys hissed through his teeth. "She's right, mate," he agreed. "It wasn't pretty."

 

"I've decided you're having the next one," Gwen said grimly. "You can have the swollen ankles and caffeine withdrawal."

 

Rhys laughed for a moment, then stilled at the look on her face. "You're not bloody serious! I'm a _man_ , Gwen."

 

"Ianto? Any cases of male pregnancy on record in the Archives?" Gwen asked idly.

 

Straight faced, Ianto looked upward, scrolling through his highly organised memory. "Eighteen, I believe, though only seven of those were carrying human offspring. At least two were Torchwood staff, artefact accident."

 

"Still got the tech?" Gwen asked.

 

"Secure Archives. Probably more or less intact. Of course, no one's tried it out in forty years, but it _should_ still work."

 

Rhys looked pale.

 

Gwen broke into peals of laughter. "Your face!" she chortled.

 

"That's not fair," Rhys said, pointing from Gwen to Ianto and back again. "No ganging up."

 

Ianto was still looking thoughtful as he stirred the dinner. "From what I can remember of the record, it runs on solar power, too. Stick it out in the sun for a few hours, and it'd be charged up and ready to go."

 

Gwen blinked. "We seriously have a box that gets fellas pregnant?"

 

Ianto's smirk was positively wicked. "Actually, it's more of a cylinder. A phallus, if you will."

 

Gwen felt her mouth shape itself into a perfect O. "But then..."

 

"Slipped and fell on it, I believe the excuse was, in the first case. The second claimed amnesia, which he attributed to a night of heavy drinking. Neither of the report writers were convinced of their total and complete honesty."

 

Gwen covered her giggle with a hand, while Rhys shifted uncomfortably next to her and turned a lovely shade of red.

 

"And yet people think Archival work is dull," Ianto remarked.

***

Gwen wandered out the following morning to... no coffee. No Ianto, either.

 

The blanket and pillow were folded and stacked neatly on the arm of the sofa, with the clothes Ianto had slept in topping the pile.

 

It was unusual, but Gwen dismissed it at first. She put the kettle on, made herself and Rhys a cup of tea each, fed and changed Edward, had a shower, and kissed Rhys goodbye.

 

She watched some inane morning television while eating breakfast, trying to drown out the first flickers of unease with a plastic-faced presenter trying to sell her a multi-purpose kitchen device.

 

When the clock was almost at eleven, she really started to worry, so by the time Ianto buzzed to be let in at eleven thirty, she had a full head of steam up, and only Edward sleeping prevented her from shouting.

 

"Morning," Ianto said cheerfully, sweeping past her with bags of groceries when she opened the door.

 

"Afternoon," Gwen corrected, slightly frostily.

 

"Is it?" Ianto asked, distractedly, checking his new watch. "Oh, so it is, almost. Do you like cod? I bought some." He began unloading the bags, laying out the goods in a neat line, like prizes. A newspaper-wrapped package, obviously the fish, then some enormous potatoes, silver beet, leeks and carrots.

 

"I didn't know where you were," Gwen tried again.

 

"Martha emailed first thing to tell me my bank card should work again," Ianto said, slightly muffled. He was rooting through the pantry. "Thought I'd go for a walk, look at some flats. The markets were open-"

 

Ianto turned and looked at her properly for the first time, and paused mid-sentence, apparently arrested by her expression.

 

"You should have left a note," Gwen snapped. "I was worried."

 

"I was only gone for a few hours," Ianto replied, rolling his eyes in frustration. "I _am_ an adult. I can look after myself."

 

" _You_ are ill!" Gwen persisted. 

 

Ianto's eyes seemed to spark. "And you seem to think you're entitled to tell me what to do with my own free time all of a sudden! Well, you're not my bloody mum, you're not my big sister, and you're _certainly not Jack!_ "

 

Edward set up an thin wail that quickly turned loud and angry.

 

"Sorry," Ianto mumbled, breaking her gaze and turning away. "Sorry."

 

When she returned, bouncing Edward to calm him, Ianto still had his back turned. His fists were planted on the counter top in front of him, and his head was bowed.

 

"I should go," he murmured.

 

"Don't say that," Gwen said immediately.

 

"There's a place... if I get it, I can move in next week. I can stay in a hotel until then."

 

"You don't have to-"

 

"Yes, I do," he said, cutting her off. "I'm used to having my own space. I need it. And it's been so long since... I need it more, now. More than I did before."

 

He straightened, his hands clenching tighter, then unfurling flat against the surface. "The last few days. It's been a lot to take in. Too much, almost. I need some time. Some space to get my head around it."

 

"Of course," Gwen agreed. "But will you stay tonight? Please. For me."

 

For a long moment, Gwen thought he was going to refuse. But then the tension in Ianto's frame seemed to slacken a little, and he nodded.

 

"Thank you," Gwen said.

 

Ianto straightened up and attempted a shaky smile, but it simply had the effect of making him look more lost and vulnerable. When Gwen hugged him, one-armed, he sighed deeply and leaned into it, eventually bringing up his hands to rest lightly on her waist.

***

Ianto stayed, but rather than simply being quiet, he was subdued. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, and Gwen didn't know whether she should shake him out of them. It was Edward who coaxed the most smiles out of him. He sat on the sofa with him for well over an hour while Gwen put her feet up and made them both regular cups of tea. Another old film was playing; this time, a musical with the heavily saturated colour typical of a picture originally filmed in black and white and hand-tinted later.

 

"You'd be a good dad," Gwen commented, watching Ianto let Edward chew and suck messily on the tip of his index finger.

 

Ianto simply shook his head. "Some people shouldn't be parents. I'm one of them."

 

Gwen was severely tempted to push and probe, but as she opened her mouth to do so, she saw Ianto's shoulders tighten as though bracing for an onslaught.

 

"Well, you're on the babysitting rota," Gwen said instead. "You're good with him, and I want an evening out with Rhys next week sometime that doesn't revolve around changes and feeds."

 

Ianto flashed Gwen a quick smile. "Be glad to. He's easy."

 

Gwen's mobile gave a peculiar series of blips, and she groaned. "Weevil down by the Bay causing trouble," she explained once she'd checked the message. "Andy'll be here in a minute. He says the police have cordoned off the area, but I have to go in and sort it."

 

"I'll do it," Ianto offered. "I'll have to borrow your gun, though."

 

Gwen very firmly bit back on her urge to tell him to stay put. "You don't have one? No, of course you don't. We'll have to do something about that." She took Edward, who grumbled but settled quickly, and watched Ianto get to his feet. "It's in my handbag on the counter top."

 

"What are we doing with them these days?" Ianto asked, checking the amount of rounds and the slide action of the handgun with brisk, efficient movements.

 

"Nowhere to keep them, so we have to put the rogue ones down. Shoot them until they don't get up again, then dump them in the bay. Andy should be able to help you out with the disposal," she offered.

 

"Good. God, I miss the SUV," Ianto said ruefully. "Got another clip?"

 

"The side pocket," Gwen said. "No, the other one."

 

Ianto unearthed the evasive clip and tucked both it and the gun into his jeans. Outside, Gwen heard the police car pull up and Andy press the horn.

 

"See you in a bit, then," Ianto said, and with a sudden, excited grin, he was out the door.

 

He returned an hour later, stinking of sewage and seaweed. Gwen wrinkled her nose when she let him in.

 

"You think I'm bad? You should smell Andy," Ianto said blithely, heading off to shower.

 

Despite having bought his own soap, he still smelt of mangoes when he emerged. Gwen was very careful to hide her smile.

 

"Have fun then? Weevil hunting with Andy?" she asked, keeping her face impeccably neutral.

 

Ianto was assembling the coffee-making equipment with the same quick and economical dexterity as he'd exhibited handling her firearm. "Yes, thank you. Well, I did. I think Andy would have preferred a crowd of drunken rugby fans to a Weevil."

 

"He's not fond of them," Gwen agreed, knowing as she said it that it was the understatement of the century. "Can't say I blame him."

 

"Handles himself well, though," Ianto mused, measuring coffee beans into the grinder. "Will he be coming on full time?"

 

"What?" Gwen asked, startled.

 

"Torchwood," Ianto clarified patiently, spooning the pulverised beans into the cafetière and pouring hot water from the kettle over them. "Have you offered him a position?"

 

"No."

 

"He'd be good, with some training," Ianto said thoughtfully. "He doesn't lose his head. Doesn't mind cleaning up, even if he does moan about it, but Owen always did."

 

"But... it's _Andy_ ," Gwen said blankly.

 

"Unless you plan on trying to handle the Rift with just the two of us, we need to take on more people," Ianto said calmly.

 

Gwen felt slightly flustered. "I know that, but..."

 

"He knows about us already, he's a local, he has the skills the police service has given him, and he knows when to keep his mouth shut," Ianto listed off. "We could do much worse."

 

Gwen had the sneaking suspicion she was being managed. Ianto's face was perfectly innocent, which compounded her mistrust.

 

"I'll think about it," she conceded.

 

"Excellent," Ianto said with a smile. "Coffee?"

***

"Give me a week," Ianto said to her. "I'll be more myself in a week."

 

Gwen offered him more time, but he shook his head emphatically. "Any longer, and I'll drive myself crazy."

 

So she agreed, and he left with his meagre possessions for a room in a nice-enough hotel, and Gwen resigned herself to a week of radio-silence and bitten nails.

 

In fact, it wasn't that bad. When on day two her phone beeped, she had to think for a second to work out who would send her the message, ' _New number. Ring in case of apocalypse._ ' She smiled and added it to her contacts, but relegated the old number to a secondary contact rather than deleting it. Maybe some day she would, but not yet.

 

Day three, Gwen took Andy out for steak and a couple of pints at the local pub bistro. Andy asked after Ianto, and it took all of Gwen's self-control to not give in and ring the new number on her mobile and invite Ianto out to drink with them. She and Andy split a large slice of cheesecake between them and called it a night. She didn't offer Andy a full time job, but she did watch him more closely and listen more carefully to what he had to say than she usually did. By the end, she grudgingly conceded to herself that Ianto might just have a point.

 

About day four, she got very antsy. Despite Ianto's assurance that he wouldn't leave the greater Cardiff area, she spent a rather frazzled hour convincing herself that he'd in fact fled on a plane to Europe, changed his identity, or simply disappeared altogether. She had experienced eleven months of time where Ianto had been dead, and only a handful of days since where he was alive. Those days were seeming more and more dreamlike as time passed. Only the cafetière on the kitchen counter belied the rather dizzying possibility that she'd imagined it all.

 

' _New place has most hideous wallpaper in existence. It's fantastic!_ ' Ianto sent that evening, just after dinnertime.

 

She gave a sigh of relief. ' _Need help moving in?_ ' she asked.

 

' _Nothing to move in but me & I'm in. Doing anything on Tuesday?_'

 

Gwen was not.

 

' _Come over about 2. Wallpaper must be seen to believed._ ' An unfamiliar address followed.

 

Gwen beamed. ' _It's a date_ ,' she replied.

***

Gwen checked the address, her location, then the address again. Then she rang Ianto.

 

"I think the address you gave me is wrong," she began.

 

"Nup. I can see your car out the front. Come on in, the door's unlocked." Ianto hung up without another word.

 

Brimming with questions, Gwen got out of the car and walked up the overgrown garden path. The door stuck, then opened suddenly, sending Gwen stumbling a step or two forward into the gloomy little corridor.

 

"Down here," Ianto called from the back of the house.

 

Gwen couldn't see too clearly, but she could smell old cigarette smoke, plaster, dust and some kind of solvent. She headed towards the glow of light and the familiar sounds of a kettle being put on a hob.

 

"I thought you were... _Oh my God_ ," Gwen said faintly.

 

"Impressive, isn't it?" Ianto asked, his voice smug and amused. Gwen couldn't tell if he was smiling. She couldn't tear her eyes from the walls. Lurid orange and yellow sunflowers with a variety of cheerful faces covered them from skirting board to picture rail. Gwen closed her eyes briefly, and the ghosts of the sunflowers remained visible.

 

She couldn't help it. She burst into sudden, hysterical giggles. Ianto joined her.

 

They'd subsided into occasional breathless chortles and wiping damp eyes by the time Ianto placed two mugs of tea on the kitchen table.

 

"Took me like that the first time, too," Ianto confessed. His eyes were bright and his cheeks were a healthy pink. "I didn't get here until late in the evening, and I was tired and a bit moody. Thought I'd try and make a cup of tea before bed and found this." He gestured at the nearest wall. "I'm thinking of leaving it. I can't look at it and keep a straight face."

 

"You're not serious," Gwen said disbelievingly.

 

"Completely," Ianto said.

 

"You're _mad_. I thought you were buying a flat?"

 

Ianto swallowed a mouthful of tea. "I was. This was cheaper, and it was furnished. Deceased estate."

 

"It's tiny."

 

"It's bigger than a lot of the flats on the market," Ianto countered.

 

Gwen looked at the dirt in the corners, the mildew around the sink. "It's filthy."

 

"I like cleaning."

 

"It's only got an Aga," Gwen said, spying the old-fashioned oven.

 

"It'll heat the house in winter."

 

"It's probably got mice," Gwen said stubbornly.

 

"I'll buy a cat," Ianto said, smiling, completely unbothered.

 

Gwen rolled her eyes. "It's a _mess_."

 

"I've signed all the contracts. It's my mess."

 

"Have you been _scraping paint?_ " Gwen said, seeing the flecks of white on his shirt and in his hair and changing her angle of attack. "If Martha knew-"

 

"Sitting room needs repainting. And I was wearing a mask until you rang," he said, pointing to the counter top next to the Aga, where a simple disposable face mask sat.

 

"No sunflowers?" Gwen asked.

 

Ianto grinned. "Worse. Nineteen-seventies lounge suite. Mustard yellow velour. Quite comfortable."

 

"I suppose you could burn it in the Aga," Gwen mused.

 

"Synthetic fabric. I'd asphyxiate on the fumes," Ianto said.

 

"Pity."

 

"Then there's the rug. Pink cabbage roses," he elaborated.

 

"Forget fumes. You're going to be poisoned by bad interior design of the twentieth century."

 

"Did I mention the flying ducks?"

 

"Oh, _no_."

 

"Actually, I'm lying. No ducks," Ianto confessed.

 

"Thank God for that," Gwen said.

 

"It's a challenge," Ianto said thoughtfully, after another mouthful. "It's got a nice feel to it."

 

"That's a bit mystical for you, isn't it?" Gwen asked.

 

Ianto shrugged. "Nothing wrong with following instincts now and then."

 

Gwen nodded and considered her next move carefully before speaking. "Have you thought about what I said about your options?"

 

"Torchwood. I'm not going to change my mind," Ianto said decisively.

 

Gwen opened her mouth to argue, maybe to insist he take more time to think about it, but Ianto ploughed onward.

 

"It was never just about Jack. I'm _good_ at it. The job, it gives me a purpose. I know who I am when I'm Torchwood."

 

"It means that much to you?" Gwen asked.

 

"I need it. And you need me. Let me do this. _Please_."

 

Gwen couldn't refuse him. "Welcome to Torchwood Three, Ianto Jones." She held out her hand.

 

Ianto took it, but rather than shaking it, he kissed her knuckles. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "Now, about the Archives..."


End file.
